Without a Trace
by insane.lil.piratess
Summary: Why would one write 'The End' at the finishing point of his book when many stories are yet to be told? Why would one leave the advetures of an infamous piratess, Navy man and company untold? Why not read and find out now? ROB KIDD BOOKS! SPARRABELLA!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Jack or PotC (unfortunately) and I don't own Arabella, Jean, Tumen, Fitzy and Constance; they belong to Rob Kidd and Rob Kidd belongs to himself… *sniggers* Oh, you'll see... :D**

**Author's Note: ****So here it is, as promised! ;) Introducing… **_**Without a Trace**_**, or as some of ye may know it **_**Fate**_**! Thank Gypsy for the much better name! :) Anyways, shall we get on with it?**

* * *

**--  
**_**Prologue  
**_**--**

"…_Then he smiled and looked out on a glorious sunset and a future full of possibility – it was the boldest horizon he had ever seen. The End."_

She arched an auburn coloured eyebrow sceptically at the man sitting uneasily before them, as did her colleagues surrounding her.

"Would ye care to elucidate that, Mr. Kidd?" she almost snapped, drumming her fingers against the dark wood of the table they sat at, impatiently.

Rob Kidd felt a shiver slink down his spine. She was just as he had written her; the auburn curls, the flashing brown eyes… and the temper…Oh, the temper was something he should definitely fear.

"Um…" he stammered, glancing at all their intolerant faces. "Well, that's what happened, isn't it?"

"_Oui_," replied two intricate French accents synchronized with one another.

Mr. Kidd shifted in his seat with discomfort. "So… the problem is…?"

"You go on to write _this_!" exclaimed a Mayan man, flinging down a second manuscript, identical to the first sans for the title; _Legends of the Brethren Court: The Caribbean_ written in a spiked style replacing; _Jack Sparrow: Bold New Horizons._

Mr. Kidd looked down at his fable with confusion still lingering on his face. He gave his guests before him a troubled look insisting on a clarification.

"I wasn't even there!" cried the French fellow Rob evidently recognised as Jean, the ginger haired, green eyed boy he had written about.

"Yes, but--" the author tried to interject, but he was rudely interrupted but by Constance, Jean's sister. He should have guessed her human form was just as temperamental as mad as the cat he had recorded her as;

"We don't even have a cousin called _Marcella_!" she snapped, flailing her arms at him.

"Well--"

"And Billy and I have certainly never been married! And _definitely _not had a _child_ together!" finished Arabella, the auburn haired woman Mr. Kidd had cherished writing about. Unfortunately, she wasn't in one of the happy moods he had wished her to be when they met earlier that day.

He sighed. "Well, I don't know what happened after that! I suppose I made it up… look, with Arabella and Billy being together, I assumed they were married and… well…"

Arabella wrinkled her nose. "Well, ye _clearly_ assumed wrong!" she grumbled, folding her arms across her chest, sullenly.

"You got it all wrong, Mr. Kidd!" the Mayan – Tumen, his name was – spoke again with a slight roll of the eyes. "You don't know the real story… not even _half _of it!"

"Probably not even a quarter," Constance sneered, positioning herself to match Arabella's temperamental stance.

Rob stared in utter disbelief. "Well, how was I supposed to know?!" he defended. "I'm an author after all! We have to twist the truth a little…"

"Ah, but how can you twist what you don't know, _mon ami_?" inquired Jean with a sparkle hidden in his green eyes.

Mr. Kidd blinked in bewilderment. How could this be happening?

Then suddenly, it proceeded onwards.

Snatching the quill and blank pages of the manuscript with her gloved hands, Arabella stabbed into the pot of ink and began to scribble, biting down on her bottom lip with complete concentration. Mr. Kidd felt a redundant quiver worm down his back whilst witnessing this; the 'concentrating Arabella' was also just as realistic as he had written it.

"There," she finished, cutting off his thoughts as she shoved the page back to him. Mr. Kidd glanced down, his eyes scanning the words she had dented into his parchment;

_Without a Trace__  
by Rob Kidd_

As he saw, these were the exact words said in the centre of the page. He raised an eyebrow at her, with the response of a smirk.

"We'll tell you what to write," Tumen grinned somewhat evilly. "I'm sure Arabella knows Fitzwilliam's side of the story, right?"

Bella nodded. "Now start with this…" She grappled back the paper and pen and smeared on her elegant script yet again. Rob reluctantly pulled it back to him once she indicated her completion and read;

_Jack soon left _La Fleur_; the next day, in fact. Eventually, Tumen returned to the Yucatán and although Jean and Constance wished to go along, they remained in the crew, waiting for 'the opportune moment' - as Jack would say - to leave and make their own way back to New Orleans. Although Arabella adored the sea, she and Billy soon began to set up their own life in North Carolina.  
Seems like a nice ending?  
More like a beginning… the beginning of many adventures…_

He looked up, curiously. All four of them bobbed their heads in coordination.

"Now," Arabella picked up with a small smile. "Where should we begin…?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** **LOL! Haha, okay, that is officially the FUNNEST thing I've ever written! Btw, Rob Kidd – if the tiniest possibility you're reading this is in fact true – I mean you no offence! Besides, if it wasn't for you, Sparrabella wouldn't be invented… If course, neither would Billabella, but that's not the point!**

**And the reason Jean isn't in **_**Legends of the Brethren Court**_** in this story is because I don't want him to be! Simple as that! Same with Marcella! :P Anyways, please review! And watch out for chapter 1… the first part in Arabella's tale!**

**:D**


	2. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**** Okay, okay, at long last, here's your update! :) I originally wrote this on my old laptop before it crashed and I'd got it really good. I tried to get this version somewhat similar but... well, I did better before, let's just say. Ah well, enjoy, all the same! :) **

**Here, Arabella is 18, Fitz perhaps 19 and Tumen and Jean around 16 – story starts approximately 2 years after the Jack Sparrow series ended. Apologies if I got their ages wrong, I'm just guessing, really. Tumen and Jean won't be appearing in this part, but in the next part, they shall! :D Mwhahaha!**

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**_12_****th September, 1729**

**--**  
_**Chapter I  
**__The Beginning__**  
--**_

Dark, heavy clouds clotted across the once-blue sky of North Carolina. She turned her glinting brown orbs to the atmosphere above, fiddling with the stems, petals and leaves of the bouquet resting aimlessly in her delicate grasp. She sighed, a dark, sorrowful wisp of breath, directing her curious glance back to her elegantly dressed feet.

She scowled, furiously – dejectedly – tearing off her fancy footwear and tugging irately at her lacy, expensive gown, pained tears flowing down the crevices of her porcelain cheeks. Again, she was left standing, cold and alone, atop of the old, beautiful hill, decorated gracefully with white bells and banners, candlesticks and flowered china dishes.

Easily, it would have made a beautiful wedding. Had anyone showed up, that is.

Arabella Smith – destined to become Arabella Turner to this day – tore the veil from her softly styled auburn locks, allowing them to cascade messily to their original, tousled state. This made it the third time – _third_ time – she had been stood up; for her _own wedding_! She released a vicious snarl, assembled furiously in the back of her throat as she stormed without direction down the hill, hair thrashing around wildly in the angered breeze.

Swiping the warm, salty tears from her eyes, her infuriated stride broke into a run – the fastest she could make her feet move without tripping over. A storm was brewing over her head, egging her on with the rumble of thunder, the clap of lightening.

Arabella was unsure of where she was heading. Her home, she decided, would be a good start. Not to stay, of course, but to pack – she was leaving. This was it. Bill Turner would _not_ hurt her like this any longer.

As she flung open the door, not even the angered bark of the neighbour's dog preventing her in her tracks; Arabella grabbed armfuls of her possessions – an overflow of clutter in her grasp – and collapsed them into the closest sack she could find. Ripping through her wardrobe, she did not pack her ratted everyday gowns, but her _fiancé's _long shirts and baggy trousers. Biting her lip down hard enough to draw blood, she flung the heavy bag over her shoulder and stormed back out into the darkened North Carolina.

"Arabella!" She heard her name in an all-too familiar tone which stung her heart. "Arabella, Arabella!" Her husband to be, Bill Turner approached in a run as she could hear by the sound of his heavy footsteps. Not knowing whether to hide or face him, Arabella froze to the spot, cloak wrapped tight over her shoulders.

And then he came. Bill stood in smart garments before her in their crowded little bedroom, his face and clothes stained with raindrops.

"I'm so sorry, Arabella," he whispered, his voice lowered in to a sensitive whisper. But did he really care? Did he really give a damn concern about it? _Three times_ – the number had lodged itself into Arabella's mind, refusing to move – he had left her at the altar. If he truly cared, she realized, why did he keep breaking her heart?

Why did she keep forgiving him?

"No, yer not, Bill," she choked out, her throat twisted and thick with tears. "I know yer not. I was foolish to think we would spend the rest of our lives together--" she scoffed, "if ye really cared, then why do ye keep leaving me there – humiliated – every time our _wedding day_ comes around?"

He looked to his feet, brown eyes absorbed with sorrow. "Y-you know why, Arabella," he stammered.

"Oh, yes, I do know why," retorted his fiancée in sudden anger. She placed her hands temperamentally on her hips, her expression turning from sorrowful to as fiery as her red curls. "And if ye _told_ me ye already had a _son_ and an intent lassie already _waiting _for ye, I would've left _long ago_ instead of getting my hopes up of us _actually_ being able to have a _future_ together!"

A single tear dropped from Bill's eye and rolled down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Arabella calmed herself, not even resisting the urge to apologize. "But I can't stay here, Billy." Reaching out, her hand brushed his cheek in a last sign of affection. "Ye should... ye should be with yer son..."

There was nothing more she could say; nothing more she felt for the man before her. Leaving her home on North Carolina that night, although the pain tore her heart straight in two, Arabella couldn't help but smile; she was finally free.

--

"Wow..."

Staring into the glistening blade turning in his hand, Fitzwilliam P. Dalton the III smiled; the very title – _Admiral_ – brought a sparkle to his eyes. Tearing his attention away and meeting the eyes of his father, he stammered the words;

"Are you sure about this, father?"

The Earl of Dalton grinned a cheek-stretching smile, placing his hand on his son's shoulder with pride. "You've done the Navy proud over these past few years, Fitzwilliam. Especially since the run ins with that _pirate_--" Fitzwilliam couldn't help but flinch at the venom thickened around his father's accentuate on this word, "and his rotten son, Sparrow. This title is destined for you."

The young man looked back to his sword with a polite nod. "Well, I assure you, father," he said, sheathing his new weapon and glancing out to the horizon with superiority, "I will _not_ let you down..."

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**Author's Note:**** Just so you know, the dates shown at the top are according to the Pirates Timeline I took a long two hours constructing! :) It's actually pretty accurate and fits everything in CORRECTLY (the capitals are for YOU, Rob Kidd!) making Jack the lovely age of 35/36 in the movies, which is what he's meant to be, I think. And what's even better so, by my reckonings, there's **_**NO WAY**_** Arabella could be Will's mother! :D**

**Anyways, I'm glad I finally updated this poor little story. I really do love it/have big ideas for it despite my neglect towards it... **

**Ah, well at least I'm here now, and I'll be updating this a lot more often! :) **

**Let me know what you think; I'm dying for reviews and for people to laugh at stupid Billy's misfortune with me! :D Okay, I suppose I feel the tiniest bit sorry for him but he got what was coming to him for stealing Bell from Jack! :D**

_**AND A BIG THANKIES TO MY FELLOW WRITER AND MANAGER, NINETEENNINTYTWO! :D I OWE YE ONE! :)**_

**Review?**


	3. We Need To Find Jack

**Author's Note:**** Well, I thought I owed you guys an update so here it is! :D And we get to catch up with Tumen and Jean, so the more the merrier, eh? **

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**_13th September, 1729_**

**_--  
Chapter II  
_**_We Need To Find Jack  
**--**_

"But Arabella, where will you go?"

She stopped for this was a question she could not answer. Where _would_ she go? Tortuga, her home since infancy, was the first that sprung to her mind, but after every misadventure and trouble caused within the population of that little island, she was quick to decide against it. There were many places she _could_ have gone, for sure. But with every place there was a disadvantage, a risk Arabella was not willing to take.

Without knowing how long she had remained silent, Arabella thought about not answering this question at all. After all, once she was aboard the merchant ship heading for North Carolina, she really had no say whatsoever.

"_Arabella_," the woman beside her pursued, bouncing within her arms a child she could call her own. Little Melanie gurgled the dribbling saliva sitting between her teeth with a giggle, soaking both her chin and her mother's ragged gown. Irately, the town milk-maiden, Lavinia, sighed. Wiping the jaws of her child with a pocketed cloth, she turned once again to Arabella, her patience for a reply tumbling.

"I-- I don't know," she responded, out of complete honesty. "I'll... see where the ship takes me."

Lavinia shook her head. "That's crazy," was all she could manage to reply. It was hard for her companion not to shrug at this; Arabella didn't want to offend her friend, but she was far too much of a worrier. Sometimes, she had learned, you just had to let the tide take you.

As the ship docked within a short walking distance from them, Arabella exhaled, breaking the silence shared for the past ten minutes. She felt Lavinia tense next to her which instinctively tugged at her heart. Wrapping her friend into a hug – weary of baby Melanie – Arabella buried her head into her blonde curls, gently whispering to her companion; "thank ye."

Pulling away, she decided not to take full notice of the crystal tears staining Lavinia's graceful face.

"You've been a good friend to me, Arabella," she whispered, weakly. "So thank _you_. Thank you for everything. I wish you the best of luck wherever you go, Belle."

Suddenly, she froze. Rooted to the spot, her mind began to reel. Without notice, Arabella was immediately thinking of something she had forbidden long ago. Thinking of a certain someone brought back to her attention with the recalling of that name. Belle. He called her that.

Belle.

"Thank ye, Lavinia," she repeated slowly, controlling the intense gyrate of the mind inside her skull. As she tucked her long auburn hair further into the bulge of a cap, covering her eyes and femininity with heavy men's wear, she began onwards, heading straight to the lowered gangplank and dodging the swerving men with crates and barrels glued to their arms. "Good bye," she called over her shoulder, "good bye Melanie."

Cries came back to her, but Arabella took no notice. She now knew what she had to do.

"I have to find Jack," she whispered.

--

Over Yucatán, the sky was its usual shade of blue as the sun rose high into the clouds. Many natives were already alive with the sound of the animal's music, setting about their daily chores – cleaning, cooking, preparing, even the children playing their part, scattering small corn seeds for the creatures of the enclosed pens dotted around the humble village. The smoke of the fires from the night before began to die with the everlasting flames and the waves lapped the shore in a peaceful manner.

Some might say everything in Yucatán was perfect.

_Som_e that is.

Jean Magliore sat cross-legged upon the dusty ground sheet of a Yucatán's tent, a ragged cat who appeared to necessitate a decent comb curled on his lap, purring ever so discreetly as the boy tugged his hand through her grey mat of fur. To his right stood a Mayan of a similar age, although Tumen was not sitting still. Pacing back and forth and back again, he sighed in irritation.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Jean?" he asked his friend. "After all, we've never tried a mystic before! Instead of saving Constance, she could make her even worse!"

Arching one ginger tinted eyebrow, Jean glanced to his companion, sceptic. "Worse?" he elucidated. "What, _mon ami_, could be worse that living your life as a cat? Besides, it was a mystic who turned _ma soeur _so a mystic can turn her back, _oui_?" Knowing the Mayan would have no response, he continued to concentrate on Constance, her throat still rumbling with pleasure.

"I'm just..." Tumen started. But Jean had been right; he _didn't_ have a response.

"Just think of it, Tumen!" exclaimed the Creole boy, twisting himself around to face his friend without disturbing his cursed sister or causing much disruption to his comfortable position upon the floor. "When Constance is human," he restarted again, green eyes glazed and twinkling, "we'll be able to go on many more adventures!"

"She managed alright as a cat," objected Tumen, with a point of his finger. "She managed to sail with Jack and Captain Laura. And you both seemed to get from New Orleans to here in one piece!"

Beginning to get aggravated, Jean tapped his long fingers against his knees impatiently. He was going to get his sister back to her original form, he kept telling himself over and over again as Tumen began to rant on over his thoughts. He was going to save Constance, he was going to save Constance. He was _going to save_ Constance.

"Please Jean!" pleaded Tumen. Unblocking his rolling thoughts, Jean came to the consideration his Mayan friend had _finally _reached a conclusion. It couldn't hurt to listen this once, he decided. Yes, it wouldn't be long before Madame Aia would call them in and his sister would be saved. Yes, just a little while longer. Let Tumen have his fun. The joke would soon be on him.

"You don't know what Madame Aia will _do_ to her. What if the transformation goes wrong?"

Jean shook his head, confidently. "_Mon ami_, it will _not _go wrong." Rising to his feet, he shrugged his sister higher into his arms much to her discomfort. Tumen bit his lip; it was plastered all over this plan. The singular word almost bulged in front of the young Mayan's face:

Fail.

When Madame Aia finally conducted them into her room of work, black silk falling down her back in such a graceful way Tumen could hardly believe it was her hair, his heart rate quickened. This wasn't going to work. However, shaking his head, he followed Jean and Constance through the beaded drapes, hiding his doubt behind a straight face.

"She _was_ a human," before Tumen knew it, Jean had launched into a whole explanation to the woman before him in which he had missed the introduction. "She cursed and turned to a cat by the mystic Tia Dalma." The Creole sailor shuffled a hissing Constance in his arms as her yellow claws fastened themselves into his shirt, just pricking his skin – not enough to cause pain, but most likely just the amount of pressure was put on to leave a mark.

Madame Aia considered this, pondering with hand to her chin with her glistening amber eyes upturned to the draping ceiling of her tent.

"I'll tell you what," she replied eventually. Tumen shivered; her voice was chilling – spine-tingling – like wind chimes chatting together in a sharp autumn breeze. Both boys watched as the Madame rose to her feet, both entwined in silk material elegant enough to dance in. He approached them carefully, keeping her distance but still near enough for Tumen to feel her airy presence as a gust, prickling on his skin.

"If you bring to me something, I will gladly make arrangements for your feline to become a feline no more."

For the first time throughout the meeting, Jean exchanged a glance with a just-as-confused Tumen who mirrored his perplexed expression. Mentally, the youths argued to themselves; a battle of silence. Who would ask the question? Who would inquire as to what this mystic would so desperately need from them; two adolescent boys and a cat-turned girl?

It was eventually Tumen who spoke. "What do we bring you?"

Madame Aia smiled. "I need the things to make her human once more. I need a fracture of human skin and the shaving of a nail. I need a lock of curling hair and a babies tooth. I need..." she paused, glancing at Constance in profundity. Instinctively, Jean held his sister closer and tighter as she was inspected by this peculiar woman, sharing side glances with his Mayan friend throughout the corners of his sparkling green orbs.

Then, she stopped. The mystic grinned.

"I need a pigment of emerald green from a human's eye," was her final desire, called as she sauntered to her desk with swaying hips. The boys froze, fixating their stares on one another in awe. Even Constance dared lift a whisker in complete bewilderment.

"Bring me these things, and I shall return your sister. Without them, there is no hope. Now leave."

It was fair to say, the two friends were quick to obey, speeding from that tent before a shot could be fired from the barrel of a gun. In the open air, Jean was lost for words; his jaw dropped in disbelief and – to put it frankly – disappointment. As if he had time to collect such insane objects. Wasn't there any way to get Constance back to her original form without this bizarre task resting on their shoulders?

He sighed, slumping to the ground as his sister slid from his arms.

Although, lunacy of their appointment aside, Tumen had a smile pressed to his lips. Beaming, he outstretched a hand to his sitting friend with an inquiry of, "you know what we have to do?"

Jean didn't reply.

This just extended Tumen's grin further, stretching his deeply tanned cheeks out to the extent that the term 'grinning from ear-to-ear' almost applied. It was a small plan breathed from his lips, but it was one that would work, he was certain. And as the words swam from behind his teeth, both Constance and Jean found themselves agreeing, mirroring toothy grins back at their Mayan comrade.

"We need to find Jack."

--

Fitzwilliam watched intently as the ship before him was loaded. He smiled; a vessel, a crew, stocks and weapons and everything a newly appointed admiral would need – it was all his. He felt his father's presence by his side, the clasp of the Earl's tough hand upon his shoulder, but yet he could not bring himself from stare at his future loading before him.

But then his father asked him something. Asked him his quest – his mission – the reason he had been given everything he had dreamed of since the height of a child's doll. And Fitzwilliam knew that answer. With a thin smile twisted upon his even thinner lips, he drawled out the words;

"I need to find Jack."

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**Author's Note:**** Yay! Without a Trace returns! I've got back into the swing of things now! I know where I'm going this thing at long last! Yay! Oh and I know the catnip Tia Dalma gave Jack was pretty much the thing that would change Constance back but... I changed it :) This should be fun; Jean and Tumen going treasure hunting for human parts. Yay!**

**Oh... and I've uploaded the next chapter of my beloved Lost Memories, and, well, I've had not much feedback. Could y'all maybe read, please? I know, I know, it's not really nice to beg for reviews, and you guys must get a bit fed up of hearing it all the time... but I worked hard and it would be super-duper appreciated! Lovies you all! **

**Anyways... look out for updates! And thanks for reading!**


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